War Within
by Americana Psychotica
Summary: AU; a disillusioned warrior leading the disgraced Sheikah people, Link wages war on the land of Hyrule without mercy. Daughter of an ancient legacy, Zelda does everything in her power to protect her kingdom. Head of an exiled Gerudo clan, Ganondorf seeks Hyrule in hopes of finding a reprieve. A chance battle leads to a clash that will rend heaven and earth; who will prevail?
1. Chapter 1

Fingers digging into the soft earth, he scanned the horizon, one hand raised, two fingers curled around the cool, smooth wood of the mask in his hand. The warriors shifted as one, retreating a step as their leader straightened, heavy fur cloak siding from his shoulders and folding to the mulchy earth. Holding the handful of dirt up, he watched it sift through his fingers, blue eyes tracing its descent back to the torn earth below.

"The queen's decoy dies," he murmured, carefully securing the mask over his features, the hinged, gaping mouth dropping to reveal the blood red veil over his mouth. "Do not hesitate to kill the guards, but the queen must survive. Let her watch her beloved temples burn." The hiss of metal being eased from sheaths was soothing, and he relaxed a little.

"Spare the children. Bring them to me alive." Soft huffs a breath, smooth salutes, bright eyes behind elaborate masks. Hefting the heavy sword, he carefully channeled his energy through the blade, summoning up the heat in his stomach and letting it engulf him.

_It's been too long, Link..._ He let the tiniest of smirks break across his features, impossible to see beneath the opaque red scarf and heavy mask.

_Welcome back, Dark._

* * *

The horses shied and whinnied nervously; the wind picked up, and he could smell the ash drifting in. Unease clamped down on him, and his muscles tensed.

"Ganondorf!" Twisting in his saddle, he met the panicked gaze of the scouts thundering up, skin prickling sharply.

"What news-"

"The temple up ahead is under attack – the Hylian queen is there!" His blood froze. His people's survival hinged on that woman, and damned if he'd let her _die _when he'd finally found her.

"Nabooru! Mount up and ride out! Raiders ahead!" A chorus of whoops and confirmations rang in his ears as he kneaded the stallion into a canter, picking across the shallows of the river, the smooth, worn leather of the reins clutched too tightly in his hands.

The ease of riding into battle was one he relished in. He and his sister had pulled their clan through hell and back to get here, and they were closer than their own blood could ever bring them. No, it was the blood they'd spilt to survive that tied them together, and it seemed they would prove their worth to one another again.

He'd never seen anything like this though. These people – almost creatures, too fast and precise to be mere mortals – swarmed the queen's party, yanking guards from saddles and throwing them into the fray, where they were gutted, still stunned by the ambush. Each one, swathed from head to toe in tight black clothing, woven leather armor, and the rare piece of metal, screeched at inhuman levels, the terror they wrought increased a thousandfold by their faces.

They didn't have any, not true ones. All you saw were demons and rabid animals, wood and fur, feathers and metal melting together to create a monster.

One stood out, though. Clearly the leader, though he didn't stand apart from the others. The mask was black as the clothing he wore, a sort of gross caricature of a human face, the wood set into some sort of flexible material that allowed the thing to all but merge with the wearer's own features, save for two horns that arced up from the temples, sharp gold spires against the darkening sky. The mouth was dropped in a roar, metal teeth set with weird red stone inlays, abstract patterns that captured the eyes and sent the mind reeling. The wearer's mouth was covered with a bloody colored scarf, one that caught the dying light and shimmered, an illusion of fire within the mask.

A weird scent hit him with a force unlike anything he'd felt before, and his stomach twisted. The black masked leader met his eyes squarely, revealing them to be an impossibly bright shade of scarlet, darkening abruptly to black. For a moment he could have sworn the creature was _smirking _at him.

"Ganondorf! The queen!" His muscles unlocked, and he surged forward blindly, catching the panicking white mare's reins and wheeling her hard away from the battle, a sharp slap to her flank sending her hurtling free of the mash of bodies. Instantly, an amber gelding hurtled after her, Nabooru pressed to its back as she followed. Fumbling with the horn at his hip, he gave a series of sharp blasts, swinging down from the stallion and unsheathing twin scimitars, panic giving way to cold precision. The ambushers were enraged at the loss of the target, and turned all their attention to his clan, surging forward like a wave from hell – but their leader pulled back and strode toward the burning temple, someone following behind him, herding-

Spirits save him. Children? Cold engulfing him, he broke into a run, feeling his clan following behind, war cries high and joyous as they tore into the masked fighters before them.

* * *

Sheik's hot breath on the back of his neck was almost soothing as he threw the decoy hard into the altar, ignoring the startled whimpers of the children huddled behind Impa's women.

"Get them out of here," he breathed, nodding to the tunnel Impa had opened moments before the attack. The white head bowed, and she hissed an order at her group, who melted into the shadows, children in hand. Turning back to the decoy, he carefully removed the mask and hung it from his belt, falling into an easy crouch before the cowering woman.

"Shh," he murmured, cupping her jaw and tilting her head up to the light. Sheik removed the shimmering, half clear, half opaque mask of his own and quipped, "You would think she was scared for something other than her own life before – but see how quickly her fears turn to herself in a time of crisis." Link laughed, letting his head tip back to offer a soft smile to his lover.

"She is human like any other, beloved – give her the benefit of the doubt," he purred in reply, receiving only a derisive snort in reply. Returning his attention to the shaking decoy, he released her face and straightened, freeing the two thin stilettos from the mask at his hip, pausing to admire the 'horns'. Gently tapping the blade of one against the altar, he asked, "Your name, my lady?" She clenched her jaw and inclined her head defiantly, and he chuckled.

"I would like to know the name of the one I send to her beloved Goddesses tonight, darling, but if you insist..." He pressed one blade to the underside of her chin, sheathing the other.

"Impa, bring me the youngest." A stifled cry, a scuffle, whimpers. Impa's cool aura, a trembling hand pressed into his. Gently, he pulled the small boy forward, resting his free hand on his head, absently running his fingers through his sandy hair.

"And what is _your _name, little one?"

"G-Gravian," he whispered, tears streaming down his face, small fingers curling tightly around Link's. He continued to stroke the boy's hair, eyes never leaving the decoy.

"So tell me, Gravian, what do you think of the queen here?" The little boy trembled and whispered, "But she's not the queen." Link widened his eyes comically and said, "She isn't? Then who is she, Gravian?" Gravian swallowed hard, meeting the decoy's teary eyes and whispering, "She's Lady Murina..." The woman closed her eyes and stifled a sob; Link's eyes glittered darkly in the dim light. Chuckling, he purred, "Murina? What a lovely name. But what a terrible example for the children! Gravian, what do they teach you about lying, little one?"

"You should never lie...because the Goddesses value truth above all else." Murina didn't bother stifling her next sob at the way the boy's tremulous voice strengthened with the recitation. Link hummed low in his throat and murmured, "Very good, Gravian." He released him and pulled Murina to her feet, freeing the second stiletto.

"Let this be a lesson to you, Gravian. Lying has _dire _consequences," he murmured, tracing Murina's cheek with one blade, coming to a halt just under her chin. Sheik caught the boy as he scurried away, holding him still. Link sighed.

"A pity really. A child should not have to learn a lesson like this." She had no time to even cry out; he slammed the thin blade up into the soft flesh beneath her chin, the second blade buried into her chest. Gravian screamed; Link calmly retracted both blades, cleaning them on the edge of the bleeding woman's cloak, eyeing the blood that had splattered the child's face impassively.

"Mm. Impa, clean him off and take him back to the village. Just him. The others come with us." He sheathed both stilettos, hearing the battle outside dimming. His people were retreating as ordered, the newcomers in chaos as a result. The hair on the back of his neck rose abruptly, and he whirled in time to see the nomad warrior charge Impa. Sheik beat him to the draw; the larger man went sprawling, scimitars spinning across the polished floor.

* * *

Ganondorf hit the floor hard, breath exploding from his lungs as the smaller warrior produced thin, sharp metal rods, spinning them lazily as he approached. The boy was still screaming, the decoy's blood drying on his face as the tall, pale haired woman dragged him into a steadily closing passage. The leader seemed frozen at the altar – though he sensed it wasn't indecision that stole motion from him. Hissing low curses, he flipped to his feet and fell into a fighting stance, eyes locked on the approaching warrior. Clenching his hands into fists, he let his eyes take in their surroundings; behind the altar, fire was eating away at the massive temple at a bizarrely slow pace. _Magic. _The leader was now lounging against the altar itself, the dead woman at his feet – Ganondorf felt a snarl build in his throat. He was resting his boot on her skull, arms folded across his chest, eyes never leaving the confrontation before him.

_Kill your current opponent first. We can crush _his _skull later. _His swords were too far away to make a break for; Nabooru would skin him if he lost those for good.

_Throw him, then go for them. _The metal rods concerned him. They implied the man intended on getting in close, but he hadn't moved in – yet. No, he seemed to be manipulating the air around him.

_Oh spirits. _Sheikah. He dodged the first bolt of magic and only barely scrambled out of the way of the next, rolling back to his feet and disregarding his original plan, running for the nearest scimitar. He misjudged how close the other man was; one sharp spike dug into his thigh, the second slicing at his hamstring. He thrust a wave of magic at the man and ripped the spike from his leg, stumbling and falling to one knee beside his own weapon, fingers curling desperately around the hilt.

_Why isn't the leader helping him? _A thin metal disc whirred past him, slicing his cheek. _Oh. _Adrenaline sliced through the pain, and he rose, opting to hurl his own blast of magic at the cheeky warrior, circling to his other sword. The other man was retreating, sliding the pale metal rods into sheaths at each thigh and carefully securing the mask at his hip over his face. _What in all hells-_

It was barely a second, but he could almost taste the agony the other man had to feel. He doubled over, spasmed once, and gasped aloud, fingers curling into claws – literal _claws_, silver bursting from his gloves and forming the most wicked curves he'd ever seen in anything meant for battle ever. He blinked, moving into an easier stance – and found himself face to face with the man, claws catching his jaw and lifting him with impossible ease, hurling him in the opposite direction.

Apparently the thing was fast, too. He barely curled in on him, preventing more damage than he'd already received, and quickly surveyed his chances of survival. All plans left him at a strong disadvantage to the other man.

_Dammit. _He had to get out before the temple went up in flames entirely.

* * *

Link could hear Dark screeching in his head to abandon Sheik to the nomad, but he refused to move, ignoring the flames licking across the floor, inching closer and closer, their heat radiating down his spine. The too bright face of the mask caught the light and held it, devoured it in the bizarre opaque half of the mask. The shadows writhed and clawed at it, ghoulish faces pushing up against the surface and screeching for release. Their wrath bled like black tears from the opaque half's eye, streaking the surface with oily tracks.

He knew, could hear and feel and smell the flames creeping over the temple floor, dragging itself like a reanimated corpse from the grave toward the altar, hissing and crackling, so quiet for such a destructive force. He should leave, should order Sheik to retreat, but as always with his beloved partner, he couldn't pull his eyes way from his fatal spiral. The Gerudo male was clearly at a loss for what course of action to take; no berserk rage nor Goddess imbued might could compare to the dead quality of Sheik's one visible eye in bizarre juxtaposition with his deadly accurate strikes and vicious intent.

It was intoxicating, to breath in another's life and know you were about to extinguish it. His fingers curled into the unyielding marble of the altar and he struggled to contain his hungry response. A feint sent spirals of tattered butterflies through his stomach; a solid strike made his muscles clench with anticipation. But something breathed in the back of his mind that this was not so simple as it seemed; this opponent wasn't what Sheik was used to, what _he _was used to, and he might-

The moment happened to fast to track with the eyes; the subtle shift of the Gerudo man's position, a slow flutter of the eyelids, a weak exhale – and he struck. Sheik's advantage was his speed and brutal offensive, giving the defender no chance to retaliate. The spirit drove him mercilessly, giving no thought to the protection of its vessel.

He didn't even bother with the swords. Boxed in, he couldn't have wielded them properly even if he wanted to. There was an air of desperation when he struck out, driving his foot into Sheik's unprotected stomach, slamming the heel of one hand into his sternum, and following up with a crushing blow to the throat. His sheer physical strength was ten times that of Sheik's, spirit-ridden or not, and the slim man collapsed, blood bubbling up from his mouth as the mask went dull and glassy, cracking and peeling away from his face. A sobbed breath, wild red gaze locking with Link's horrified blue, and the shadows erupted from his parted lips, tearing across the temple with shrieks of excitement. The flames responded; a roar of exaltation, and they engulfed the altar abruptly, devouring it and tearing up Link's arm. He didn't respond, but Dark did, wrenching control from him and wheeling them through the flames and into yet another passage, clamping down on Link's grief-stricken mind and driving it into oblivion.

* * *

The abrupt advance of the flames and his uncharacteristic victory left Ganondorf stunned for a moment. His body refused to respond as he stared down at the face revealed by the mask, something in his crumbling at the expression of pure terror and yearning directed at where the leader had stood.

The world around him sought to regain his attention; a wooden beam overhead cracked thunderously and buckled ominously; startled free of his stasis – guilt? – he whirled, moving a mere step toward the doors when his body froze again. Gold eyes darted over the unmoving body of his opponent, and every old memory surged to the surface. Drenched in blood and running across a disintegrating plateau, turning to see his father hesitate to lift the body of their enemy's leader over his shoulders and stumble just barely to safety, only to have the ground give out beneath him, saving the dead woman's body but losing his own life. His stomach twisted sharply.

_Damn it. _He reversed his motion and lifted the dead man, stumbling back as the inner temple belched smoke and folded in on itself; a familiar voice over the cacophony broke him of his alarm.

"Ganondorf! Din damn you, get _out _of there!" Cold leather around his wrist, yanking him back; he almost lost his balance and felt an inexplicable grin break across his face at Nabooru's angry oaths, picking up the pace unconsciously and racing from the condemned building in time to see it all but dissolve beneath the flames.

Ganondorf exhaled weakly and carefully lowered the dead man to the earth, lifting his face to stare up at the overcast sky. Behind him, a low chant, a plea to the Goddesses for forgiveness and strength. A subdued rumble of thunder, faint sparkles of lightning in the clouds, and finally, rain. The horses snorted and twisted around one another, puffs of their breath visible even as the steam rose from the rain hitting the hot earth. Nabooru's voice filtered to his ears beneath it all, eyes never leaving the destroyed temple.

"What happened here? Who were these people?" A new voice, another horse wheeling across his vision, brilliant white even coated in dust and blood.

"The condemned, the men and women who betrayed my family for unearthly glory. My lost people." A host of gold eyes rose to meet serene violet. A sigh, a soft murmur.

"Forgive us, Goddesses. I was blinded by affection and could not see his rage." Ganondorf stirred, skin prickling, burning.

"Who?" The regal queen met his gaze solemnly, eyes dark with sadness.

"Our Goddess-blessed hero, the very man meant to protect us from the darkness beneath." She turned to stare at the temple.

"Link..."

* * *

A/N: Well, I think I mentioned this. I'm relatively certain I'll be continuing it. To sum it up; a Legend of Zelda AU where Link is the antagonist, a disillusioned holy warrior and leader of the disgraced Sheikah people, intent on destroying Hyrule and casting its people to the four winds as the Sheikah were when the Hylians finally drove back an ancient evil intent on ruling the earth in defiance of the Goddesses. Zelda is the ruler of the small kingdom of Hyrule, struggling simply to survive and live up to the legacy her people wrought. Ganondorf is a Gerudo leader (which have more than one man, by the way), leading his exiled clan to Hyrule in hopes of finding a place there. The three clash when Ganondorf saves Zelda from Link, and from there out it's a race to find an ancient relic that should be able to defeat a "spirit-ridden" Sheikah army lead by an enraged holy warrior.

Good times, good times...XD So, I'd like feedback - how is this? Too much, too little, too fast, too slow? Anything goes - criticism, critique, compliments, I'll take 'em. I'm looking to improve my pathetic ego and my writing, so don't spare my feelings. Eheh...


	2. Chapter 2

Letting her grip on the reins go slack, Nabooru gently kneaded her gelding to the side of the procession, gold eyes noting the wounds of her people and their weary posture. Ganondorf moved to her side, absently running his fingers through his stallion's bloody colored mane.

"None of her guards survived," he murmured, turning to scan her face. Her lips pursed some as she nodded.

"She says they have no standing army – that the Sheikah made up the bulk of it years ago, but now..." He shook his head.

"For all her gratitude for us saving her, she refuses to explain who this Link is and what is happening here. No one will. We may have to move on." She closed her eyes, expression turning pained.

"Ganondorf..."

"I know," he snapped, gripping the reins sharply. "But we may have no choice. This place is torn by war, and we cannot defend ourselves or them if we don't know what is going on." Exhaling wearily, he turned the stallion and gently kneaded him forward toward the head of the line. Nabooru ran a hand through her hair and called, "Let us rest for the week and find more supplies first." He looked over his shoulder and nodded, mouth curling into a small, tired small.

"Of course." She watched him go, twisting the reins in her hands as the final Gerudo warrior passed. Taking up the rear, she let the gelding control their pace, casting a glance over her shoulder.

The capital of Hyrule gleamed in the torchlight, but even with the long shadows cast across the street, she could see the regal buildings seemed to be buckling, a sense of decay hanging everywhere as they advanced toward the palace. It was not unlike the original capital, to the northwest, settled into a valley where the nearest village was Kakariko. Of course, _that _capital was ruins now, the final stand of the original Sheikah people, before the Hylians crushed their tiny resistance and drove them into the mountains. Now they ruled this land, and the Gorons and Zora within it.

It didn't surprise her that the queen didn't wish to speak of whatever turmoil brewed beneath the surface of the idyllic land; the Gerudo were not a friendly people to the Hylians, nomads of the desert to the east that roved across the great plain of Hyrule Field and wreaked havoc with the travelers who dared make a trip across the near deserted place. But they were no longer Gerudo, not so far as the king was concerned; cast out, exiled because his son dared question their traditions, the essence of their way of life, insisting they would be better suited to a life as mercenaries, at the very least. She snorted and ducked her head, eyeing a particularly dilapidated building warily. The Gerudo wanted none of Ganondorf's _radical _ideas, and so they'd been exiled. Ganondorf had defied their father's order to remove themselves to the barren Old Palace deep in the desert, beneath the Spirit Temple, and instead fled across the river to Hyrule, destroying the bridge in the process.

An abrupt laugh bubbled up in her chest, but she tamped it down sharply. That had been the moment of no return, if their father's face was anything to go on; Ganondorf's magic eating through the old rope and wood structure, the sun setting behind them as the broken clan galloped out of the desert. It was a relief, but no amount of delight in their defiance could cast aside the trepidation rising in all of them.

There had been hints of this unseen war in Hyrule; desperate villagers crossing into the desert where none had dared before, burnt out settlements littering the area around Kakariko Village, the Gorons and Zora retreating further into their own lands, abandoning their oaths to the Hylian queen. Yes, they'd known something was devouring this land, but it was their last chance.

They were a clan without a home, a people named exiles and traitors, no longer fit to bear the name Gerudo, beloved warriors of Din. They were alone.

"Nabooru!" Her skin felt too tight over her muscles as she pushed the gelding into a trot, catching up to where Ganondorf and Zelda were several feet ahead of the clan warriors. Her brother's face was grim; the Hylian queen's, serene.

"Forgive our silence on the matter of the attack earlier," she began, letting sad blue-violet eyes wander over the weary Gerudo. "We meant no disrespect. The attack and the loss of those children lie solely on our shoulders, for the Goddesses sent warning to us in our dreams, and we disregarded it." Her shoulders slumped, and she looked away, one gloved hand curled tightly into her mare's mane. Something glinted just underneath the thin fabric; Nabooru blinked and eyed her hand, but saw nothing to offer insight into what she'd seen. Ganondorf spoke shortly, "You cannot afford guilt until those children are saved, and you said you have no one who can do so. _We _can." He nodded to his sister and the clan gathering in the courtyard they'd arrived in, horses milling and shying away from wary guards and stable boys.

"So you say, and so the Goddesses will," Zelda acknowledged softly, "but we cannot be easy with this plan. You do not know us, owe us no great debt. We do not wish to increase our own debt to your people." Nabooru saw her brother's muscles clench, then slowly ease, his eyes closing as he seemed to fight the urge to reply sharply to the weary queen.

"Be as that may, we can help. You will owe us no debt, given that we may secure supplies enough to find anywhere new to settle for a time." A thin blonde eyebrow rose, and the queen's lips pursed, easing into a tight line.

"Settle? But why? The desert-"

"We are exiles," he snapped, patience dissolving. Nabooru shifted in the saddle and laid a hand on his arm; his eyes were narrowed, but again she sensed he was still fighting the urge to give in to his intense anger. The queen's eyes widened, and in a moment her calm facade shattered; Nabooru was stunned to see how young she really was, how _fragile_ she seemed. Again she shifted, this time with discomfort, uneasy with the sudden display of vulnerability.

"B-but – how-" She dropped her eyes and seemed to struggle to compose herself, finally whispering, "I can't offer you the trust of the kingdom, but you did save me. If you insist upon helping us..." With a small sigh, she lifted her gaze and met their gold eyes steadily.

"I'll have to explain everything."

* * *

The chapel was cool, but the usual sense of ease and comfort she felt here was gone. It was too much like the temple she'd just watched dissolve in a sea of fire, the children her many courtiers had left in her care from their villages and estates lost to the enemy she had created.

Closing her eyes, Zelda struggled with the wave of emotion whirling in her chest, struggling to burst free. She refused to lose face in front of the stoic Gerudo warriors again; she could feel their hawk-like gazes burning her back, unconsciously noting every weakness as they had been trained to do from an early age.

Had it been anything else threatening her kingdom, she would have felt safe. Then, she would have had the Sheikah at her side, and Link-

Her stomach constricted, and she pressed her palms against the altar, exhaling weakly. Link.

"I am the final product of the original Hylian dynasty," she began, turning to face the two desert warriors. The female didn't meet her eyes, instead casting her glance around them, eyeing the transplanted décor almost uneasily. The man met her gaze steadily, almost defiantly, but there was no judgment there.

"We fought the armies of a warlord who once reigned here, using the fear his sorcerers sowed to control the populace. We were originally nobles who rose up to protect the commoners, then warriors tasked by the Goddesses to rid Hyrule of the warlord and his fell magics for good." She nodded to a tapestry to their left, ancient and unraveling, but still as clear as it had been the day it was made.

A black claw erupted from the ground, curling around Hyrule Castle, but was held at bay by a golden force emanating from the three golden triangles, flanked by wings, overhead.

"The Goddesses created a relic known to us as the Triforce to mark their ascent into the heavens once they created our world; each piece holds the essence of one of the three, and together the Triforce is the ultimate power in our world." Zelda swallowed.

"Or rather, it is now. There was one other before it, a power used by the warlord and his sorcerers, who became the Sheikah. The shadows they wielded in battle were turned to a solid form, a mask their greatest warrior wore to channel otherworldly powers granted by their demonic gods. We thought it was destroyed in the final battle, when we retook Hyrule Castle and killed the warlord." Ganondorf raised an eyebrow at that.

"It wasn't?" She shook her head.

"The Sheikah salvaged it from the ruins in hopes of sealing it properly. They held themselves as the keepers of this land, but sought to make peace with us when the warlord and his original tribe died out. I think they were afraid another relic, another mask, would be used against them if they didn't seal it away first. We never found out what it was." Shrugging, she turned to the altar and splayed a hand over it, one finger tracing the empty well where the first jewel had once sat.

"This is the Altar of Time, taken from the Temple of Time in Castle Town when the Sheikah took it back thirty years ago. We defeated them then, but didn't bother eradicating them. We thought them beaten." Lips pursed, she swept her hand across the altar and said coldly, "We were wrong, of course. They were not beaten, just wounded, and driven back against a wall. A cornered animal is the most dangerous of all, and they proved it, struck out and shattered the seal on their ancient relic in hopes of finding someone worthy to wear it. My father sought a warrior with the strength of heart, wisdom of mind, and purity of soul to open the Door of Time and use the Triforce within the Sacred Realm to drive them back for good." Nabooru gasped some; Ganondorf simply nodded.

Though the Gerudo were not yet the menace they'd become of late at the time, even they had heard of the legendary Triforce and the Goddess-touched Hero meant to wield its power. Zelda sighed.

"It took him many years; no one succeeded, and he looked everywhere. The Gorons, Zoras, even the Kokiri offered their help, but no matter what he did, no one could open the Door. All perished in sacred fire when-" She paused, and shook her head.

"It is of no matter. Eventually we did find someone, a boy raised by the Kokiri in lieu of his parents, who died when Kakariko was retaken a few years before. He was the true Hero, able not only to open the Door of Time, but unlock the Sacred Realm." Nabooru gazed at her with no small amount of awe, whispering, "How? A mere child..."

"Pure of soul, strong of heart, and wise of mind," Ganondorf reminded her. "They aren't traits exclusive to adults, sister." She eyed him balefully but didn't reply. Zelda allowed the tiniest of smiles.

"True. However, they aren't eternal traits either, apparently. We took Link from his home too early, forced him into a role he was too young to truly grasp. He was the only one who could wield the Master Sword, and so we taught him, trained him, turned him into a warrior unequaled by any in our lands." She shivered.

"He was jaded. The Goddesses were a remote force that meant nothing to him; he fell into the more substantial religion of the Sheikah, clung to it in hopes of finding...something. I don't know what he was looking for; he was always so quiet, closed-mouthed at the best of times..." He'd been so _simple _to her; she'd mistaken his quiet for stupidity more than once, been almost cruel to him on many an occasion, and then had the gall to fall for him-

"So Link became an honorary Sheikah?" She started some, and winced.

"I suppose, yes," she replied, disliking Nabooru's odd phrase. "My bodyguard, Impa, adopted him. She was his primary trainer, and eventually introduced him to his best friend, a boy the Sheikah revered as some sort of avatar – Sheik." Looking at Ganondorf, she murmured, "He is the one you killed at the temple. I am surprised you managed it – and I'm surprised Link didn't intervene." She frowned.

"Sheik was always unpredictable, and Link worshiped him; his prowess, his wit, everything about him was _perfect_ in Link's eyes." She couldn't contain her bitterness; she'd loathed Sheik from the moment they'd met, and the utter adoration in Link's eyes whenever he spoke of him...Shaking herself, Zelda continued, "They were close, as I said. I didn't think of him as a threat." _Not to my family, __anyway. To me? To the love I never quite managed to admit to Link? _"He killed my father on the eve of my seventeenth birthday, set fire to the great hall of the castle, and let the Sheikah into the castle gates. They destroyed everything, freed a few of their ancient shamans we'd imprisoned at the end of their original uprising, and fled back into the mountains. Link wasn't there when it happened; he'd been on pilgrimage to the Water Temple of the Zoras, and returned days later." Her heart clenched, and her mouth went dry. She didn't want to reiterate what happened, but knew full well these two needed to know. She'd ignored the warnings of the Goddesses before, and now faced with their chosen warriors, she would not make the same mistake again.

"Impa reached him before I did. She told him I'd staged a coup to claim the throne early, that the Sheikah tried to save my father, and that I was a traitor to Hyrule and they needed to reclaim the country to save it from me." Her voice cracked; Nabooru shifted uneasily and made as if to step forward to comfort her, the motion terminating abruptly. The old rage boiled in her heart again, burning away the sorrow.

"He tried to kill me, in the Temple of Time. I used what magic I could muster to escape, and Sheik followed. I don't know how, but he found me almost immediately after; he would have killed me if the Gorons hadn't stopped him, hiding me in the Great Fairy's Fountain on Death Mountain." She shook her head.

"For seven years, I've been fighting to protect Hyrule. For seven years, Link and Sheik have been destroying everything my people have known and kidnapping their children in hopes of creating a new generation of Sheikah, all as fanatical as they are. Impa gave Link the relic of the Sheikah, that mask I spoke of before. It, like the thousands of others the Sheikah created, has given him enormous power, along with his own Goddess-given gifts." She didn't bother pushing the hate from her voice, fingers curling into fists.

"We're weakening...but we will not lose. I won't rest until I've defeated him, and I will destroy the Sheikah once and for all!"

* * *

The meeting lasted well into the night, before Zelda dismissed them, offering them the entire southern wing of the small palace to bunk in. The clan moved there gratefully, and most slept as soon as they set out to sleep, but Ganondorf and Nabooru remained awake, accompanied by the only man who'd dared to defy their father and remain with them when they and the clan warriors had fled.

Gurenish pinched out the candle in front of him, before relighting it and watching the light flicker across his niece and nephew's faces.

"Well?" Ganondorf lowered himself to the floor, taking in the alert expression of his uncle's hard, thin features, the way the ruddy light turned his pale red hair a weird gold color.

"The queen has accepted my offer to help, and apparently believes us to be Goddess sent." Gure snorted, then outright laughed, thin form doubling over in his mirth, skin stretching taut over hard muscles. Rawhide and bone, the man looked like some sort of ancient skeleton in a leather suit etched with elaborate tattoos. There wasn't an inch of the man that wasn't covered in ritualistic scars, tattoos, and old war wounds. Exhaling sharply, he straightened, teeth bared in a mocking grin.

"The Goddesses might have a sense of humor, but no one would mistake us for _dunta. _That little girl should ask for a trade." He guffawed and stretched, cat-like, and rose, the candlelight catching on the horns laced up his spine. Each one was from a kill in his younger years – the first, a mere eight summers, then ten, then thirteen, on to his twentieth, when he was named an adult and true clan warrior, unlike most men of the tribe. Nabooru rose as well, muttering, "If you will not take this seriously, Uncle..."

"Pah, little girl! I've seen enough to know this isn't the work of the gods. This is humanity's folly, and humans have to pick up the pieces in the end." He dragged his nails over the stone wall, scowling.

"What of these masked? Sheikah, all of them, from their fighting style. The one you killed was one as well, but the one they followed isn't." Ganondorf nodded, watching his uncle pace, muscles coiled.

"Link. A Hylian orphan who was the Goddesses' chosen, the one who wields the Master Sword." The older Gerudo whirled, eyes narrowed sharply.

"And he betrayed them."

"Yes." Nabooru bit her lip.

"There is something she is not telling us – perhaps she does not know, but this is not so simple as it seems." The old man growled.

"Of course it isn't. _Deknak_. A thousand spirits could not have disappeared as they did, and no mere man could wield shadow and steel in such a fashion." He stopped, turned again.

"The children are our priority, then?" Again Ganondorf nodded, saying, "We retrieve them from the Sheikah and fortify the palace. Nabooru and I will plan with the queen as to how we are to deal with this Link." Nabooru muttered a sharp oath; Gure huffed.

"We'll need more than a prayer to get through this one, Ganondorf. What of your _madul_?" The chief frowned.

"Koume and Kotake were ordered not to aid me when we fled to Hyrule. I doubt they will defy father." Gure scowled.

"_Deknak pute. _He should know better. We are a dying people – more children die at birth, and he sends away the most fertile warriors we have." He shook his head and gestured toward the rooms Nabooru and Ganondorf were given.

"Go, sleep. I have something to attend to, and a queen to speak with. A mere child, and alone here. I think she would do well to seek counsel, and I've an idea as to who she might trust." Nabooru met her brother's eyes, shrugged, and slid into the room nearest to them. Ganondorf paused and touched his uncle's shoulder.

"We haven't given up on finding the blade, Uncle Gure – but these people need us." The older man shrugged.

"You always were too noble for your own good, Ganondorf, but I will follow you. You have done well by us since you became chieftan. I have no quarrel with your rule." He tilted his head to one side.

"But this may challenge everything we've worked for – and not for the better."

* * *

A/N: I meant for this to be longer, but then I was going off on a tangent, sooo...Yeah. This is mostly exposition and a hint at what the Gerudo are doing in Hyrule. ...Uhg. I know I'm going alternately way too fast then really freaking slow, but I'm still trying to get a handle on this story. It would rock if you could review; PM me if you have a question or whatever, I'm all for explaining myself. I'm currently really distracted by HP fics, so R&R, please? I'll update as soon as I get a better handle on whatever Felix wanted from me. XD


	3. Chapter 3

A thin band of moonlight cut across her palms, the silver washed blue stone of the ocarina gleaming lowly. With a sigh, Zelda set the instrument aside, carefully curling her braids to the sides of her head and pinning them, eyes locked with her reflection's.

The Gerudo had agreed to assist them, but no matter what, she couldn't shake the sensation that their loss here would far outweigh the gain. Exiles in a land not their own, seeking something – as if she couldn't see. She scoffed. She was young, not blind; it wasn't difficult to sense the Gerudo leader's reticence to trust her word, nor was it difficult to note the way they seemed to be searching for something – for why else would they, exiled or not, be in Hyrule? Pursing her lips, she finished coiling and pinning each braid, rising and splaying her hands across the smooth, pale wood of the wardrobe.

It had been her mother's; lost in the civil war mere weeks after Zelda was born, she'd never known the woman. She'd been raised by the court ladies, her father a mere shadow of himself, offering insight and wisdom, but never the affection she'd needed.

_You're wallowing again. _Huffing, she turned and pulled a deep blue robe from the back of the chair, slipping it on and striding from the room.

She often wandered the halls, an insomniac from a young age. Impa had teased her about it when she was very young, saying she was letting dream demons starve with her wanderings. A solemn child, she'd never seen the joke in those words; now she wondered if she should have appeased those demons before those of the past could begin eating at her heart.

A sound caught her off guard, and she froze; someone else was wandering the halls as well, apparently. She eased forward and glanced around the corner, searching the gloom for the source of the noise.

* * *

The torchlight caught on the dull shine of the leather coat the thin man wore; she relaxed a little, slightly irritated with her foolish response. She'd wandered into the wing she'd given to the Gerudo, it would make sense that _someone _would be awake. What reason did they have to trust them?

"Good evening, Your Highness." She started and blinked, stepping into the light.

"You knew I was here?" The man turned and raised a thin, pale red brow.

"...Would I have spoken if I did not?" She winced, suddenly feeling very young. He chuckled lowly.

"I apologize. I am not one to speak glibly, and my own status among the Gerudo allowed me some ease with our king." He shrugged, the leather shifting like a second skin over his shoulders. Unease crept down her spine; she shifted her weight from one foot to the other and ducked her head. The Gerudo man hummed lowly, sensing her uneasiness, and stepped away from her, heading toward a door leading into an inner courtyard. She followed in silence, watching him ease to his knees, lowering his body until his forehead touched the cool flagstones, hands folded in front of him.

"You are seeking guidance?" She hadn't meant to speak; the words left her mouth without her approval, and immediately her cheeks burned with embarrassment. To his credit, his voice was even and held no mocking when he replied, "A sort of meditation – so I suppose I do seek guidance. It would be more accurate to say I wish to better understand how to approach the problem."

"Problem?"

"You are young, Your Majesty, and you need advisers not blinded by their own stake in this war." She frowned and moved around him to sit; he straightened, hands folded on his knees, eyes locked with hers.

"An adviser whose wisdom is known by many, who knows war and peace as well as any other but can see what those others cannot. You know of one. He is greatly respected here." She arched a pale blonde eyebrow.

"Who are you to offer this? You do not know our land." A smoky laugh, a small smile.

"I know those who do. This land inspires peace in one hand and restlessness in the other. The young often travel, and so was the case in my youth and that of this adviser." He shrugged.

"It is for you to decide, but I believe you are too young to be alone in this, Zelda." Her lips tugged down into a frown, somewhat upset with his familiarity.

"Again, who are you to speak as such?" she murmured, folding her arms across her stomach and rocking back some on her tailbone.

"My name is Gurenish. I am the brother of my people's king, uncle to Ganondorf and Nabooru. Their exile is forced; mine is self-inflicted. I follow them because they are the hope of my people, though young, and I follow them because I can offer wisdom they struggle to find elsewhere. I offer you this same wisdom because I know of one who can fulfill such a role for you. I see this land, prosperous but dying, and see you struggling to keep it alive. I see your foe, driven by a rage not his own, and sense a torn heart." He tipped his head back, eyes closing.

"I am not _sabulu, _given to speaking the tongues of the Goddesses and professing their great secrets. I am a warrior, one man born to battle and little more than that." A smile whispered across his features again.

"The same cannot be said of Darunia. A friend of old, a king in his own right now. A greater man I do not know. We, the Gerudo, are a vagabond people, but we cherish life above all else. I can see this world crumbling and wish to assist you. I know of the means to do so. Darunia likely does not agree with this Link's actions. Seek him out, young one, and perhaps he will have the answers you and this country need."

* * *

Gure could almost taste her uncertainty. A man known to be a thief and vagabond, as were all his people, offering wisdom and a means to achieve her goals, through a man known to all in her country. He imagined his own response would not be so charitable as her own.

"You sound wise enough to me." It took most of his control not to laugh aloud at her words. Should she know of his past exploits, the destroyed city of the Gerudo his people still claimed to be his folly, she would likely not be _nearly _so charitable!

"Perhaps I am wise to some, but I am not one to turn to in a time such as this," he replied lowly, lowering himself back to the ground and letting the soft litany learned from childhood whisper through his mind, focusing on the words until little else remained. Just the courtyard, the words, and the worried queen before him, young in age and in power.

_Din forgive my meddling._ "Tell me, Your Majesty – of this temple your disgraced hero destroyed, and the children he kidnapped. What, do you think, were his intentions?" She bit her lip and shifted her weight again, rubbing her shoulder almost absently, as Gure often saw his comrades do when the spring storms began to sweep across the desert.

"The Sheikah lack children – women of the warrior caste are rendered infertile at birth, and those women who are not are rarely able to bear more than one or two children, at most. As for the temple...I doubt there was any real reason behind it. Link is angry. He blames the Goddesses for his dilemma, just as he blames me and my father for using him." Still rubbing her arms, she murmured, "May I ask a question of my own?" Gure raised an eyebrow and nodded; looking away, Zelda chewed the inside of her cheek, seeming to turn the question over in her mind.

"What...what happened to bring your clan here?" He raised his eyes to take in the queen's uneasy visage, barely smothering a snort.

"We dared to defy what we were 'meant' to be."

* * *

The mask's surface was blackened and cracked, peeling up from the flexible surface and crumbling to ash at an unwary touch. Sinking to his knees beside it, Link inhaled raggedly, clutching the burnt remains. Thunder rumbled a warning a few miles to the south; the sky had taken on a greasy green hue that would normally have given him some cause for concern. Now it only leant itself to his black mood, a sensation of utter devastation that devoured all other emotion and fed it to his pain.

A chance glance at the husk of the altar triggered too-clear memories; Sheik's eyes bored into his own, even as Dark cast his consciousness into oblivion, but too late to rid him of the sheer anguish that now froze heart and mind alike.

Steeling himself, he rose, mask in hand, and moved in silence back to where his horse waited. The mare snorted and danced a bit in place, eager to remove herself from the smoky ruin.

"Shh..." She butted against the offered hand, lipping his bandaged fingers gently. The crumbling mask felt too hot in his other hand, as if the sensation was more genuine than any other. Almost in a sort of reply to his musings, his bandaged arm throbbed sharply. Wincing, he cast one last glance over his shoulder and mounted up, pausing to hook the remains of the mask over the saddle horn and knee Epona into a walk.

Overhead, the storm exploded; buckets of rain swamped any who wandered out of doors, and even the oiled cloak did little more than provide a second layer to be soaked. The hood hung heavy and drenched over his eyes, but memory led him easily to the ancient log, twisted into the wall of roots and shrubbery that marked the edge of the Kokiri Forest. Letting Epona have her head, he struggled to free the thin stone pendant Sheik had made him as a child from beneath the sodden tunic, leaning over the horse's neck and letting himself drift into the waking dream.

* * *

Not so potent as a proper walking unconscious ritual, he could nevertheless feel the press of the plane's eerie red wind against his barely protected 'body'. Towering ruins eclipsed the dim silver sun; black and white stone blazed with their own luminescence, cracks choked with the blood red dust.

A single fountain vomiting the same rusty stuff caught his gaze; made of glass, it was a maiden whose face had been eroded by magic or time, he couldn't be sure. She hunched over a heavy urn that seemed to be slipping from her arms, the dust flooding from it to swirl in the silvery waters that stood stagnant in the basin around her.

Link could almost taste the malice in Dark's gaze; the spirit sat on the massive glass maiden's shoulder, swathed in black that did nothing to detract from his furious crimson gaze. Beneath him, a few weaker spirits whined and scuffled in the waters, unable to take such a solid form as his.

"We had a deal." His voice felt like pumice raking across the inside of his throat when he gasped in surprise. Dark's gaze didn't flicker.

The ancient being had offered him no name, nor a face to recognise him by. He did not usually speak when they met in these pockets of utter desolation, planes of misery and loss, only offered him a contract and the time when they might see one another again. To hear what sounded so similar to his own voice, accent and intonation, was eerie and unprecedented.

"Y-you said you would protect him-"

"If there was no other way! He was a fool to use the mask so many times before. He was warned." Leaping from the fountain, he advanced upon the flinching blonde, fingers curling around his burnt arm and clutching. When he surfaced from this plane, it would be agony, but for now he felt nothing but vague pressure. He didn't fight. It was an exercise in futility and would only lead to him losing himself.

"Who are you to judge our ability?" he finally rasped, meeting the spirit's shifting, now translucent, now opaque eyes. "We gave our bodies to your might – we expect to be protected."

"You expect to be empowered," spat the shadow in reply, releasing him and stepping away, eyes narrowing. Link could see the wavering form of the fountain through them if he squinted.

"The contract was signed, the bond formed and consummated in bloody combat. Sheik knew full well the risk. You will not place the blame upon us." Link dropped his eyes.

"I do not seek to offer blame." He sensed the surprise of the spirit, and felt the tiniest of smiles curve his lips.

"I seek vengeance." Now he did look up, meeting the unfathomable red gaze. The spirit scanned his features.

"There is no mask to be given, no spirit to be called. The mask of your lover is gone, its spirits racing across the human plane to devour what unwary souls they may find." A wry smile lit his eyes with a manic light.

"Unless you would do what must be done to summon another, from a deeper plane? Perhaps my own?" Link's face was cast in eerie red light when the black globes embedded in earth and wall alike erupted with light at the spirit's glee.

"If I may." Cool fingers curled around his jaw; a soft chuckle sent a wash of hot breath across his face, smelling oddly crisp and clean – like the wind from the lake in summer.

"You may."

* * *

The sun had not crept over the horizon. The storm of the day previous had left a heaviness in the air, and even the castle's servants moved sluggishly, woke later than usual and worked slower than usual. Plagued as she was with light sleep and inevitable insomnia, the queen moved among them, toward the wing she'd given the Gerudo clan.

When the sun peaked over Hyrule, they would be within the city of the Gorons, in hopes of procuring the assistance of their beloved ruler, Darunia. She felt a spark of hope in her chest. The Gorons were close to the Hylians, and it was likely Darunia would want to assist his Sworn Brother's only living relative. A shimmering waterfall of sound drew her up short and shook her free of her musing. Exchanging a look with her maid beside her, she looked to the door leading into the main hall of the wing. Were those...

Bells? Inching forward, she pushed the heavy oak door open and slipped inside, letting her eyes adjust to the gloom, aided still by a wash of incense smoke cloaking the air.

Before her, row after row of Gerudos knelt, fingers intertwined with their neighbour's, the end of each row gently twirling red silk cords ending with tiny brass bells. At the front of the hall, a small travelling altar had been erected with a sandstone statue of Din, surrounded by short, fat red candles and backed with a massive three headed snake, from which the incense smoke was trickling from each head's mouth. Gurenish, Ganondorf, and Nabooru all knelt before it, swords laid blade over blade to fan out before the altar.

One great inhale sounded throughout the hall as each Gerudo acted in tandem; an equally explosive exhale followed, and then, the softest chant began, rippling in rounds through the entire room.

Chest tight, Zelda slid to the floor, feeling inexplicable tears prick the edge of each eye as slowly, each woman rose, unfurling a fan and tossing them into the air, the bells sewn into the edge of each one chiming brightly. They tossed them once, twice, three times, the chant growing louder, easier, before moving to the edge of the room, the men rising to repeat the gesture with wooden disks set with bells of the same type. In practised form, they circled the altar once, snapping fans shut and laying the wooden disks down even as Nabooru rose, placing a single red flower bud in the hand's of the statue. Ganondorf and Gurenish lifted the largest of the two candles, and seemed to pause-

Before each gently touched the candle flame to the flower, engulfing it. The chant crested, then fell silent. A warm wind whispered through the usually drafty hall, but Zelda still shivered.

For a moment, she felt every worry disappear in utter joy, a joy that remained, a warm ember in her chest, and she realised her tears had been of the same emotion. Barely stifling a relieved laugh, she eased from the room, hugging herself unconsciously.

Outside, the bells tolled to signal the realm that dawn had come.

* * *

A/N: I've been listening to Passion (from Kingdom Hearts 2, don't ask me who it's by, I'm way too irritable/tired to look it up right now, you've probably heard it). That's pretty much my only explanation for the mood of this and BNMS.

Also, resheathed is not a word. I don't know why I keep using it. Forgive me. XD

Ahem. So. NOTHING HAPPENED. ...Well, that's not ENTIRELY true, but I want to get Darunia and Link's vengeance begun in the same chapter, and this one ended where it wanted to end - with an entirely random ritual that I began and stopped halfway through in the original version going OMG I CANNOT MAKE THEM SOUND MUSLIM. THAT DEFEATS THE PURPOSE OF THEM BEING A FANTASTICAL RACE. -panics- So yeah. I had a moment.

Ye ask and ye shall (eventually) receive. Though technically, that review made me go OMG SOMEONE WANTS ME TO UPDATE CRAP I FORGOT ABOUT THIS ENTIRE STORY CRAP. ...XD I'm growing incoherent. WE WILL BE MEETING DARUNIA IN THE NEXT CHAPTER. GOODBYE.


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